


i can't believe i'll never see you again

by efthemia



Category: Mawaru Penguindrum
Genre: F/M, Series Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-12
Updated: 2015-09-12
Packaged: 2018-04-20 01:42:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4768829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/efthemia/pseuds/efthemia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>I haven't told you anything yet</i>
  <br/>
  <i>I haven't told you anything yet.</i>
</p><p> Ringo dreams of Shouma.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i can't believe i'll never see you again

In Ringo’s dream, she’s on the subway.

It’s one of those dreams where everything is so ordinary, so close to her everyday life, that when she wakes up she’ll probably not be able to remember whether it was a dream or real. The little animated figures of Double-H wave and bow from the signs. The featureless walls flash past. _Shinjuku, Shinjuku,_ the robotic female voice announces calmly from the loudspeaker. She rests her head against the window.

She’s commuting to school, probably. Or commuting home from school. She’s not sure which. She sighs, and thinks about what she needs to buy from the store on her way home, either now or later. She’s not sure which. Eggs are on sale today. They’re running low on rice noodles. Some vegetables, too, probably. She’s not sure what to cook for dinner, and, with a small shrug, decides that she’ll choose based on what type of meat is the cheapest today. Or was she going to go over to Himari’s today? She reaches into her pocket for her phone.

It’s not there. Hm. That’s weird.

“Have you lost something?”

She starts and looks over at the seat across from her. There’s a boy sitting there. His uniform is pretty familiar. Another student commuting— but then, she doesn’t remember anyone sitting there a moment ago. Again, weird.

“My cellphone,” she says distractedly, rifling through her bag. It’s nowhere to be found. “I can’t find it. Ahh, what a pain…”

“I see,” the boy says, still sitting with his hands folded in his lap implacably. He’s got a bit of a strange expression on his face. She notices that he makes no move to get up and help her search, and she feels a twinge of annoyance. How inconsiderate.

“You’re not very helpful,” she snaps, and accidentally knocks her bag to the floor. “Ah—! Oh no...” She reaches down to pick up the scattered pens and notebooks, but instead, there’s apples, hundreds, thousands of apples, rolling across the floor, bouncing off the seats, cascading through her hands as she reaches out. It’s then that she notices the rest of the train is empty.

Ringo blinks.

The boy is standing in front of her, holding out her science notebook.

Weird.

“Thank you,” she says, a little confusedly, and takes the notebook from his outstretched hand, storing it away in her bag again.

“Don’t mention it,” he says, and smiles a little as he sits down, next to her this time. He’s weird, and a little annoying, but he has a pretty gentle smile, she supposes.

“Do you remember where you saw it last?”

“What?”

“Your phone,” he says.

“Oh,” she says, and thinks back. The last time she had it was— when? “That’s weird. I can’t remember.”

“That’s probably because you’re dreaming,” the boy says, and stands up. The train slows as it reaches its stop, and he makes his way to the door.

“Ah. That explains it,” Ringo says.

The doors open, and he turns as he’s about to step out onto the platform. The station is empty too, and the train seems to pause for as long as he wants it to, suspended indefinitely, until he decides to leave. “Don’t worry, though. You’ll find it. If you try hard enough to remember, that is.”

“Huh. I guess,” she says, blinking. “Well, thanks for the help. See you around sometime, maybe.”

“Maybe,” he says, not looking at her, and steps off the train.

What a weird dream, she thinks, and wakes up.

\--

The next day, she’s working on her English homework slowly and thinking of a TV show she wants to watch later when she hears a noise in her living room and jumps, almost falling out of her chair.

Ringo glances over at the clock and frowns. It’s over an hour too early for her mom to be home. So—

 _It’s definitely a murderer,_ she thinks instantly. Well, it might not be. But it also probably definitely is. She grabs the baseball bat leaning next to her desk. It’s funny, because she doesn’t play baseball, and she doesn’t own a baseball bat, but she won’t question something so convenient right now.

She creeps down the hallway quietly, edging along against the wall and clutching the bat tightly with her hands, which are shaking a little. There’s another noise from the living room, like something crashing off a table.

“What a clumsy murderer,” she mutters to herself quietly, and feels a little better. Maybe it’s just a cat. But just in case— she clenches the bat and jumps into the living room before she loses her nerve.

The first thing she notices is that her favourite lamp is on the floor, shattered into little pieces. The second thing she notices is that there’s a stranger, a boy with weirdly long and pretty eyelashes, standing in her living room behind it.

He looks up. He’s holding a broom and a dustpan and, evidently, trying to clean up the mess. 

“Oh shit,” he says.

Ringo shrieks and swings the bat at him. He jumps back and scrambles away, covering his head with his arms. “You—! Are you crazy? Don’t swing that around like that!”

“You’re in my house!” Ringo yells, advancing towards him and brandishing the bat, as he backs away into a wall. “How did you get in? You’re a pervert, aren’t you? Pervert! I’ll—”

“I’m not! I promise! I was just—” He pauses, apparently searching for an explanation. “The… the door was unlocked, and my— my cat ran in here, and I—”

“You expect me to believe that?!” 

She swings the bat again, and he ducks again. “Wait, wait! Would it help if I told you this was a dream?”

She’s about to retort angrily when she stops and thinks about the baseball bat. It’s true that she doesn’t own one.

“A dream?” She says, skeptically, but lowers the bat.

“Y-yeah.” He straightens up, brushing himself off and eyeing her nervously. “You’re dreaming. Think about it. Do you remember what you were doing before this?”

Ringo scoffs. “That’s easy. I was doing homework.”

“And before that?”

She opens her mouth to reply and discovers she doesn’t know.

“You don’t remember, right? It’s because you’re dreaming.”

“Hm.” She steps back and stares at him, squinting. “But why would I dream about you breaking into my house? It’s not like I’ve ever seen you before.”

A strange, slightly sad expression crosses the boy’s face, but it’s gone so quickly that Ringo wonders if she imagined it. He shrugs. “Dreams don’t always make sense. Your mind can make up people that you’ve never seen before. Or people that you’ve seen, but don’t remember seeing. That kind of thing.”

Ringo sighs. “A dream, huh? I can’t believe I’d dream about such a creepy boy.”

“Like you can say anything about it, you stalker,” the boy retorts.

Ringo finds herself turning bright red. “You! How do you know anything about that?”

He scratches his head, staring up at the ceiling. “I’m someone your mind made up, remember? Of course I know everything about you.”

“Ah, what a pain,” she mutters, and glances across the room to the broken lamp. “Can you finish cleaning that up?”

“If it’s a dream, it shouldn’t matter,” he points out, looking back at her, and flinches back when she raises the bat again. “Okay, I’m sorry, I was joking! I’ll do it!”

He does, sweeping the glass into a neat pile and throwing it away, and putting the broom and dustpan back away where they belong. He knows where the trash bags and the broom cupboard are, she notices. But then that makes sense, if he’s part of her dream, after all.

He does the dishes after that, still looking apologetic, and even though it’s just a dream and she’ll still have to wash them herself when she wakes up, she feels somewhat less annoyed.

“Do you want some tea?”

He looks surprised. “You’re inviting me?”

Ringo shrugs. “I mean, I might as well. There’s not much else I can do besides kill time until this dream ends and I wake up.”

He seems like he’s about to say yes for a moment, but then he looks down and away. She notices, again, how absurdly long his eyelashes are, and is annoyed. She hates when boys are prettier than her. “Thank you. I’d like to. But I have to get going, now.”

“Huh? Why?”

He looks back at her and smiles, and, again, she feels like there’s something in his eyes that doesn’t fit the situation. “I don’t think you can dream of me for too long.” 

She follows him to the door as he slips on his shoes. Again, she thinks, what kind of pervert breaks into a girl’s house, but takes off his shoes when he enters?

He raises a hand. “I’ll be going then. It was nice to see you, Oginome-san.”

She blinks. “Do I—”

And then she’s awake, and there’s a puddle of drool on her English homework, and a text from Himari telling her to come over whenever she’s done.

\--

 _It’s hot,_ Ringo thinks.

They switched to summer uniforms recently at school, and she can already feel why as the sun beats harshly through the classroom window and onto the back of her head. She can feel a bead of sweat drip down her neck. _Gross… I want to take a shower._ She folds a piece of paper and starts fanning herself with it only to catch a glare from the teacher.

Ringo sighs and leans back in her seat, then turns to look back towards the back corner of the classroom. Himari-chan sees her looking and, glancing nervously towards the teacher, gives a little wave and a smile. 

Ringo flashes a peace sign discreetly and turns back towards the board. It swims before her eyes. It’s much too hot to concentrate right now, and she gives up, letting her mind drift off.

For the hundredth time, probably, she finds herself thinking how nice it is to have Himari at school with her. After they became friends, Himari had ended up transferring into her school— apparently, she used to have a weak constitution when she was younger and was sick so much that she had never gone to school regularly. She’d recovered suddenly, inexplicably, right around when she and Ringo had met. 

She’s grateful for Himari. She really is. She’d spent a lot of time before that trying to make friends, but finding herself always giving up when it came to opening up to them. Himari’s kind, and easy to talk to, and sometimes— there’s this look in her eyes, like she feels lonely and doesn’t understand why, doesn’t understand who or what she’s missing. A flat, featureless landscape. Ringo understands that, in a way.

And other times, a look like she’s looking straight through you, like she’s seen through you. A look like she understands something you can't. That one scares Ringo, although she’s been seeing it less and less lately.

But, yes, she can talk to Himari. She’ll probably tell her about Momoka, sometime.

Someone coughs, and Ringo sighs, resting her head in her arms. Her shirt feels sticky with sweat, and the textbook on her desk swims hazily before her, the kanji dancing chaotically on the page. It makes her feel nauseous, and she closes her eyes.

She opens them a second later, and notices that, suddenly, it’s sunset. The classroom is empty. “When did I—?” She mutters, rubbing her eyes. “I fell asleep, huh. Did no one wake me up?”

She opens her eyes again, and right away, she knows. Something’s wrong.

In the orange light, the classroom is empty, but the desks aren’t like they should be. They’re empty, but there’s a vase of flowers on each one. Outside the window, the sun is a huge, misshapen red giant, looming close to the horizon, too close, so close that she can see whorls and spots and hurricanes on its surface.

Ringo runs to the door. It’s locked. She shakes the doorknob furiously.

“It won’t open,” says a voice from the back window.

She turns. There’s a boy sitting on the windowsill. He’s wearing the uniform of a nearby high school, but his face has a strange childlike, innocent quality to it. Without the uniform, she would’ve thought he was younger. He wasn’t there before.

“I’ve tried it before,” he continues. “It’s a spell. Or a curse. A trick of fate.”

“I’m dreaming, right?” Ringo asks, feeling the panic creep audibly into her voice, despite her attempt to suppress it. “Tell me this is a dream.”

He looks away. “I messed up this time. The world’s desire to forget me, to punish us, it’s too strong. I wasn’t careful enough.”

“Hey!” Her voice rises. “I’m dreaming, right? It’s only a dream—”

The dull red sun-giant creeps closer to the window, and she can feel the oppressive heat, the open feel of flames against her face— flames that are alive, hungry, ready to consume her whole—

“I’ll try again,” the boy continues, his voice sounding desperate. “I will. So please—”

“What are you talking about?” She asks, her voice cracking. “You’ll try what?”

He looks directly at her, finally, and smiles. A forced, painful smile. “I’m sorry, Oginome-san.”

The flames creep towards him, and she jolts awake with a start before she can even scream.

\--

She’s on the subway again. It’s crowded, this time. She feels herself being pressed in from all sides, hordes of people pouring on and off at each stop. Ringo clings to the strap above her head and jumps when she feels a tap on her shoulder.

“Ah, excuse me.” It’s a vaguely familiar boy, one she’s seen commuting on this train a few times. He’s holding her cellphone. “You dropped this.”

“Thank you,” she says, somewhat confused. She doesn’t remember dropping it. 

“Don’t mention it,” he says with a smile, and steps away towards the doors. The train grinds to a halt. He waves, his back turned to her.

Ringo blinks. It’s familiar, somehow—

“Wait,” she says, “Haven’t I—”

She’s a moment too late, and as the doors shut, his figure is swallowed by the crowd.

\--

“I’ve dreamt about you before, haven’t I?” she asks him, next time she sees him. They’re in a park near her house, one that she used to go to when she was younger, and Momoka before her. He almost falls off his swing.

“Y-yeah. You remember?”

“Yeah. You broke into my house.” Ringo purses her lips and stares at him. “Why do I keep dreaming about you? It’s not like I know you.”

He stares at his feet as he scuffs his shoes against the sand. “It’s— It’s a little complicated. Well, I guess you could say that I’m a spirit.”

“You’re a ghost?” She should feel more alarmed by this, but somehow she just feels curious. “So— what, do you want something from me? Like, do you want me to do something? So you can move on, or rest, or whatever. It’s like that in dramas, usually.”

He tilts his head, considering. “Yeah. I guess that’s it.”

“So what do you need?”

“I can’t tell you.”

“Eh?” She stares at him, annoyed. “So I have to figure it out on my own? What an unhelpful ghost.”

“You have to remember,” he says, and tilts his head back, letting the soft curls of his hair fall away from his face. 

“Remember?”

The light of the sun setting soaks into his hair and masks his face with a thin golden sheen, until he’s just a blurry black shape against the glow. The light is too harsh, and she has to look away.

“I don’t remember you. I don’t know anyone like you.”

“I know,” he says, and his voice is soft. “That’s fine, for now.”

“So what now?”

He tilts his head, considers for a moment.

“What did you make for dinner today?” the ghost asks, and the sun sets.

\--

“Ringo?” Himari’s voice at her shoulder makes her jump and almost causes the knife she’s using to dice onions to slip.

“Himari-chan! Don’t do that, you scared me.” She puts the knife down and presses a hand against her chest.

Himari looks alarmed. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to! You were really out of it. I called your name at least three times.”

“Really?” She rubs at her eyes. “I’m sorry. I’m just really tired, somehow. I keep waking up and feeling exhausted, even though I slept for ages. Maybe I’m having weird dreams, or something, but I can’t remember any of them.”

“Ah, I see.” Himari’s eyes are wide. “Maybe you should go to a doctor?"

“I’m fine!” She forces herself to smile and gives a thumbs up. “It’s not too big of a deal, I'm just tired out. Don’t worry.”

Himari hesitates, then nods. “Well, anyway, the roux is done, so go ahead and add those whenever you're done. I'll start cutting up the potatoes, okay?"

Ringo nods, and moves to tend to the stove.

Later, they sit at the table, plates of curry sitting before them untouched. The steam creates faint puffs and spirals in the air. There's a long silence.

"Ringo-chan?" Himari's voice breaks the silence. "Shouldn't we eat? The food will get cold."

Ringo nods slowly and bites her lip. "You're right, sorry. I was just—"

Himari's eyebrows are scrunched together with confusion again, and Ringo waves her hand noncommittally, smiling. "Sorry, sorry! I don't know what's wrong with me today. It's like I was waiting for everyone to be here before we all ate, but..."

Himari stares down at her plate of curry, biting her lip. "It's weird, but— hm. I sort of know what you mean—"

"Let's eat," Ringo interrupts cheerfully, against the faint feeling of unease bubbling up in her stomach. "Curry should be eaten hot and with those you love, after all!"

Himari hesitates and nods; the atmosphere softens; before long, both of them forget what they were talking about. 

\--

“Today was curry day, right?” he asks her. They’re at the aquarium, this time, in front of the penguin exhibit. She leans forward and rests her elbows on the railing.

“Yeah. I made curry together with Himari-chan.”

His eyes always seem to light up whenever she mentions Himari, she notices. She’s a little embarrassed to think it, but his eyes really are beautiful. A pale blueish-green that reminds her of a quiet, private ocean. “That’s great. How is Himari?”

“She’s doing well,” Ringo says, watching one particularly fat penguin which had fallen down struggle to get up. It looks like it's been eating too much. “She beat me on an English test the other day. She’s really getting smart lately, it’s a little depressing…”

“Of course she’ll do better than you. It’s not as if you ever study,” he says, but by now she’s learned to recognise when he’s joking.

“You’re rude, Ghost-san.” Ringo shoves him a little and then turns back to look at the penguins. The fat one’s managed to get up and now is squabbling with another penguin over a piece of fish. A third one watches the other two quietly. “But anyway, yeah. She loves being able to go to school with everyone. And—well, I’m glad she’s there.”

“You seem like very good friends,” he says, watching her carefully.

“We are.” Ringo finds herself smiling a little. “Best friends.”

The boy’s phone vibrates in his pocket, and he pulls it out and looks at the screen. “I have to be going. I’ll see you again soon, Oginome-san.”

“Bye, Ghost-san.” She waves to him absentmindedly. “Let me know when you’re ready to be put to rest.”

\--

They’re on the train again, on her sleepy, vaguely unreal commute home. She rests her head on his shoulder, silently daring him to object. He doesn’t seem to mind. 

The train is packed full of students and salarymen, their stifling body heat encroaching from all sides. There’s no heat emanating from his shoulder, though; she guesses that makes sense. It’s winter in real life, she’s pretty sure. She’s not sure about the dream. She’ll find out when they reach the station. If they reach the station.

“How was school today?” he asks.

“Awful,” she tells him. “I failed a math test. I need to study for the make-up test tonight, but I wanted to try making something new for dinner, and I have to do laundry… ah, it’s so troublesome…”

“How did Himari do?”

“She passed, of course.” Ringo lifts her head and eyes him suspiciously. “Hey, Ghost-san. You really ask about Himari a lot. You knew her, right?”

He won’t look at her. “You could say that.”

“You can’t tell me any more?”

“I’m sorry. I can’t.”

“And you won’t tell me your name, either? I feel really stupid just calling you ‘Ghost-san’, you know.”

He turns and smiles a little. “It’s not that I won’t, but I actually can’t. I’ve told you before, but things like that are things you’ll just forget instantly.” He pauses. “There, I tried to tell you my name just now. It doesn’t work.”

She sighs. “Someone Himari-chan used to know… if I could remember this when I woke up, I could ask her. Maybe I should try writing it down, or something. Keep a dream diary.”

“You seem like the kind of person to keep a diary,” he says, and there’s something in his voice beyond mere speculation.

Ringo freezes. She’s never told anyone about the diary. Not her friends, not Himari, not even her mother. How can he—

“How do you know about that?” she asks, her voice strained. “How can you know?”

The boy’s eyes look panicked. “Nothing. I don’t know. It was just a guess.”

“Don’t fuck with me,” she snaps, and all of a sudden, she feels anger building up, frustration and resentment and a strange sort of despair she can’t explain. Her fingers tingle like holding cold hands close to flames, and she clenches her fists. “You just—! I don’t know anything about you, you won’t tell me anything—”

“I can’t, I tried—”

“—you interrupt my sleep, you break into my house, you steal my phone—” and she’s pounding her fists helplessly, but without a real desire to hurt, against his shoulder now, as he flinches away. The commuters turn simultaneously, stare at them silently, unmoving. “—and you tell me I have to remember, and I _can’t!_ I don’t understand, why is it me? You know everything about me, but I can’t remember you, so why is it _me_ who has to—”

He doesn’t respond, and she can feel the hot, angry tears threatening to spill over. “I hate you! How do you know all this? How do you know me and Himari? Why won’t you _tell me anything?”_

“I can’t,” he says, miserably. 

She slumps down in her seat, energy gone. The commuters turn their backs and begin their idle chatter again. Double-H encourages everyone not to litter. “Because it’s your punishment.”

“Because it’s my punishment.”

“Typical,” she mutters. "Just like you Takakuras. Never telling anyone what’s wrong.”

They both notice simultaneously what she’s said, and she stops dead. So does he. The train, fittingly, screeches to a halt— not at a station, just stopped, paused, waiting.

“You—” he says, and his eyes are wide, wide and bright, and breathlessly hopeful like a child’s. “Do you—”

“Shouma,” Ringo says and, unexpectedly, inexplicably, bursts into tears.

\--

“Himari’s brother,” she says, sniffling. “One of her brothers. Wait, where’s the other one?”

“He has something he has to do, too,” Shouma says, handing her a tissue awkwardly. “Here. Use this.”

She blows her nose and tries not to think about how puffy her face must be right now. “Sorry about crying. I was just so relieved that I was finally able to remember you— ”

“It’s okay,” he says, and she’s never heard him sound so relieved. “To be honest, I’m glad that someone could cry over me. It’s a little selfish, maybe, but— thank you.”

He stands up, and Ringo jumps to her feet, too, instinctively. “So, wait. Is this what you wanted? To be remembered, or to see how Himari was doing—?”

“Both, I think.” Shouma picks up his schoolbag and turns to face her. “I’m glad that she’s alright, and— I’m glad I was able to see you again.”

He’s clearly leaving, and suddenly, she feels a need to stall, to delay, to keep him there a little longer. “So— is this all? Are you able to move on now?”

“I think so.” He smiles at her, starts to place a hand on her shoulder, then draws it away. “Thank you, Oginome-san. I’ll be going, then.”

He turns away, and she feels a distinctly familiar sense of something she needs to remember, close, yet just out of reach— the cloying smell, the harsh heat, the world wanting her to forget. 

“Shouma!” she calls after him, but he continues to walk away from her, towards the doors at the end of the train.

The sight of his back retreating into the distance as he walks away is all too familiar, and she knows, in a sudden, certain rush, that this is _wrong_ —

“Shouma,” she yells, and, slowly, then quickly, starts to force her way through the crowded train after him. Schoolbags slam into her legs. Arms block her way. Eyes glare. They don’t want to let her go, and she grits her teeth. The doors are starting to close, and she pulls out her phone, taps in his number. She knows it, somehow. 

The phone rings, and she shouts into it. “If you’re just Himari’s brother, why did you come to see me? Why not her? How did you know everything about me?” A cold voice from the loudspeaker warns everyone that the doors are closing. She feels tears prick her eyes, elbows her way closer, almost there, almost there. “How did I know you?”

The doors close. 

“Shouma—”

The train pulls away from the station, and the dial tone sounds, and Ringo wakes up.

— 

“You’re crying,” says Himari, from the seat next to her. “Ringo, what’s wrong—?”

Ringo wipes the back of her hand across her eyes and looks at it in surprise. “I— I don’t know. I’m not sure.”

“Another dream?” Himari asks, sympathetically.

“I think so,” Ringo says and, taking the handkerchief that Himari holds out, wipes her eyes. “Thanks.”

“I really think you might want to go to a doctor,” Himari tells her, her childish voice endearingly stern. “I’m worried about you lately, I don’t think it’s normal to be so tired…”

 _Higashi-Koenji,_ a voice announces, and she stands up, gathering her things. The doors open with a blast of freezing air and, wrapping the scarf Himari made her around her neck, she thinks ruefully of the walk home from the station. Maybe it’ll snow today. “It’s fine, really. I promise. I have a feeling like it’s taken care of now, somehow.”

Himari bites her lip. “Really? I hope so. Well, let me know if you need anything.”

“Thanks,” Ringo says, smiling. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

— 

It snows on the walk home, after all. Someone taps her on the shoulder and offers her an umbrella. It’s an ordinary-looking kid. Brown hair, brown eyes. West Garden High uniform.

For some reason, it’s the uniform that bothers her. It’s a nearby school, she’s seen kids with it around and on the train hundreds of times. And yet— 

She refuses the umbrella, but asks if they’ve met before.

He looks surprised. “I don’t think so. Why?”

“Your uniform—”

He laughs. “Well, it’s not exactly uncommon. You’re probably mistaking me for someone else.”

She nods.

“Anyway, be careful on the walk home, okay?” He turns to walk away, and of course, he’s right.

And yet.

“I feel like I’m forgetting something important,” she tells him, but the wind whips the words out of her mouth and steals them away like laundry from a clothesline, flings them into the air and abandons them to a fate of being lost. The snow turns to rain. She walks home.

—

She’s at the supermarket in her dream that night, staring at the selection of meat. She reaches for a package of beef in front of her.

“You should probably get the pork, instead. It’s on sale,” a voice next to her says.

Ringo whirls around, and, of course, there he is.

“I thought— why are you—?” she blurts out, relieved and upset and angry all at once.

Shouma smiles as usual, but when he hands her the package of pork, his eyes don’t quite meet hers.

“Sorry,” he says, and his voice is so quiet that she can barely hear it. “I’m more selfish than I thought.”

—

They’re at the same park, but it’s buried in snow. Ringo notices that she’s just wearing her school uniform, but it doesn’t feel cold. She lies down and lets the snow cover her, like a sheet, like a shroud. Shouma’s ghost just watches.

“It’s Christmas soon,” she tells him.

“Is it?” Shouma looks vaguely surprised. “Time’s passed faster than I thought. I’m bad at keeping track of time here.”

“Well, it is.” She sits up, brushes the snow off. “Himari’s family invited me to spend it with them.”

“Her family…”

“Her aunt and uncle.” She doesn’t look at his face as she says it. She already knows what it must look like.

“And your family?” he asks her.

She doesn’t respond. He leans over and wraps a muffler around her neck.

“You’ll get cold,” he tells her.

She is cold, suddenly. Her fingers are numb. She buries her face into the muffler, and the falling snow turns to shards of glass, raining down with a faint, musical sound and cutting away at his uniform.

“Tell me what you want me to remember,” she says, and wakes up.

— 

Spring comes. They play cards on her back porch. The garden is a riot of color. She doesn’t have a garden. She doesn’t have a back porch, but here it is, nevertheless.

“Why are you visiting me? What do you want that I can give you?” Ringo asks him, for the millionth time. She asks it almost only out of habit, no longer hoping for a real answer. Despite their strange camaraderie, she’s still annoyed at this troublesome ghost who won’t answer any of her questions or let her have a good night’s sleep.

Shouma smiles and places his card down. It’s the eight of hearts, but all the hearts are apple halves. He glances at it, unsurprised.

“Fine. Why not Himari, then?” she asks him, and puts a card down. It’s a queen, but she has Himari’s face and a _really_ risque outfit. Sometimes she’s amazed at the stuff her mind comes up with.

He considers it for a moment and, surprisingly, answers. “Kanba and I can’t visit Himari. It would be pushing the boundaries of this punishment a little too much.”

“You shouldn’t accept an unfair punishment so easily,” she snaps at him and, looking down, notices she’s lost. She sighs and gathers up the cards to deal them out again.

“I didn’t.” Shouma glances up at the sky. “I think it’s going to rain.”

Ringo glares at him and he laughs a little, picks up his hand of cards. “Anyway, it’s sad, but it’s alright. Kanba and I don’t need to visit her.”

“Why not?”

“Himari won’t forget us. I don’t think she could. She’ll find a way.” He considers his hand. “I was just worried about you, Oginome-san.”

“What, so you thought I’d forget you?”

Shouma doesn’t answer, just stares intently at his cards, at the ground, anywhere but at her.

She’s annoyed. She’s furious. She slams the cards out of his hand. They explode out in a sudden burst and hang frozen in midair, surrounding the two of them in an uneven sort of sphere.

“Oginome-san?” Shouma asks, and he’s looking at her, finally. His eyes are afraid.

Ringo grabs his collar. “You think I’d forget you?” she snaps, and feels his eyes fixed on hers, staring into hers. She stares right back. “Don’t underestimate me. Whatever you were to me, you should know that. I won’t forget. I’ll keep trying.”

Shouma just continues to stare at her, his eyes wide, until she finally releases him and rests her forehead on her knees. A few moments of silence pass, and then, finally, she feels a hand covering hers, shy, tentative.

“Thank you,” he says, and she’s afraid that if she looks up, she’ll see him crying. So she doesn’t.

“It’s started to rain,” he says a little while later; he’s right, it has.

— 

The train home. The muggy heat of summer and the hazy glare of sunlight on asphalt whenever the doors open. _Ikebukuro, Ikebukuro,_ the loudspeaker announces.

Shouma stands up, taps her shoulder to wake her up. “Oginome-san,” he says. “I have to go.”

“Mm. See you— “ and she’s rubbing her eyes as she hears something, something slight and barely noticeable, in his voice. Her eyes snap open and she stares at him. The uniform, the fluffy hair, the overly long eyelashes— everything’s the same as normal, but he smiles sadly and she _knows._

“Are you—?” Shouma doesn’t reply, but looks at her with the same expression, and she feels her heart sink, down down down. “You’re leaving.”

He hesitates for a moment and then, finally giving in, wraps his arms around her and lets her bury her face in the fabric of his sweater. He strokes her hair with a certain familiarity, like it’s not the first time he’s done so, and she already knows what he’s going to say.

“You’ve known for a while, haven’t you?” he asks, and his voice is sad. “What I wanted you to remember. The last thing I told you. You knew, but you pretended you didn't.”

_The doors are opening. Please stand clear—_

He doesn’t walk away, this time; he doesn’t say it again, this time, because he doesn’t need to, but she can feel him starting to fade and slip out of her arms like he was never there at all. 

“You won’t be able to remember me, but if you at least remember that someone loved you, that’s enough. So—”

Tears are streaming down her cheeks and her eyes are scrunched up and she’s definitely, definitely really ugly right now, but she looks up at him anyway. “I promise. Shouma—” His hands are almost gone, but she grabs them anyway. “I promise I won’t forget you. And Himari-chan won’t either. I promise.” She can hear the desperation in her voice, and she doesn’t care. “So come back. Don’t leave—”

_Doors closing. Please stand clear—_

“Don’t worry,” he says. “We’ll—”

— 

“Himari-chan?”

Himari’s tears drip onto the teddy bear, and her voice is faint. “It’s strange. Why am I crying?”

Ringo wraps her arms around the smaller girl, and Himari’s voice can be heard, muffled in her shoulder. “I feel like I’m forgetting someone. Someone important. Ringo-chan—”

Ringo strokes Himari’s hair in a way that’s, somehow, familiar to her.

“It’s okay, Himari. Don’t worry. I believe in fate, so—”

_I know you’ll meet again._

_—_

_Hey, where are we going?_

_Where do you want to go?_

_Let’s see. Then, how about— ?_

**Author's Note:**

> the entire premise of this fic came from a night where my friend and I watched 3.33 and the last episode of mawapen one after the other (i don’t recommend this) and they were like “hey so what about sakura nagashi with ringo/shouma”. if you haven’t watched 3.33 go listen to sakura nagashi and you will Understand.  
> so anyway the premise of this is cliché af but I had fun writing this typical angst anyway  
> one of the biggest problems I had while writing this was I didn’t want to cast too much weight on ringo and shouma’s relationship and to detract from the brothers’ feelings for himari and vice versa, so I tried really hard to keep a good balance. Hopefully I succeeded ;; I tried to hint at it but I promise that there’s some other stuff going on behind the scenes.  
> It’s easy to catch if you’re into kagerou project but the scene with ringo and shouma in the classroom is supposed to be a small reference to lost time memory. I never included the line specifically but “I died. I’m sorry” was running through my head the whole time hue  
> two quotes abt the series from my friends:  
> “mawaru penguindrum ruined my christmas”  
> “someday I want to punch ikuhara in the face before I fall to his feet sobbing and thanking him”  
> thanks for reading!


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